


Messages from the other side

by NotLeanna



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22816165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotLeanna/pseuds/NotLeanna
Summary: Coming back to life is never easy.
Relationships: Max Evans/Liz Ortecho, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	Messages from the other side

Like most of the sentient creatures of this and any other world, Max Evans didn’t remember the day he was born. It must have happened a long time ago in a galaxy far far away, but more than those basic pieces of information he hadn’t learned much on the matter in his twentish years on Earth. 

Somewhat recently he had found out a mother was involved in his birth and it would have been a breakthrough and a relief to have a concrete proof that his life hadn’t started in a pod, like some kind of alien genetic experiment, if only he had had the time to process the information. But he had been busy; life and death, you know? sometimes they get in the way of pivotal self-discovery moments. 

His memory had also failed to record the moment of his  _ terrestrial birth _ , at least for the most part. Of that day he only remembered the uncanny physical sensation of having a body and the as much physical knowledge of Isobel and Michael’s presence; too little to call it a memory.

What he did remember, as clear as it was still happening, was the time he died. 

He had read a lot of books in his life, the works of great philosophers and greater artists, about birth and death and what came next and everything that happened in between. He had devoured them hoping to find something explaining the mystery that was Max Evans to Max Evans himself. Exactly like every other book nerd on Planet Earth.

Well, as it was, he should be the one writing a book, now. Not that he could answer any of the questions that had kept him up at night, but he’d certainly be able to tell some interesting stories. 

Like the moment he felt his life slip away from his body and seep into another, dead one; he thought that  _ that _ was worth telling. It had been painful and exhilarating, the most powerful he had felt in his life and the most scared, all in the same instant. He had known what he was doing was right, even though he felt every fiber of his being rebelling against it, against him. 

He had always known he was going to die, there was no other way to resurrect someone. A life for a life, it was something all his books seemed to agree on.

Then why was he thinking? Why was he smelling Isobel’s perfume and he was feeling her hands in his hair?

Why was he alive?

And who had died to bring him back?

Leave it to Max to come back from the dead already worrying and feeling guilty.

Then he heard it, and everything else didn’t matter anymore. Liz’s voice. It was asking him to open his eyes, and so he did it. 

Liz was there, he was sure of it, but the first thing he saw was his sister, teary eyes and a triumphant smile, the closest he had ever been to a goddess. He felt her, completely, like she was part of him, and he understood. He found the place on his chest where Isobel’s handprint was and rested his hand on top of it.

“Why aren’t you dead? Or at least puking your guts?”

Isobel laughed and reached for his cheek, stroking away a tear. Was that another thing to write down? Was crying a fundamental part in becoming alive? Or was that tear there since his death?

“I’ve been practicing,” she said, an answer to his question he guessed; and as she was explaining how powerful she had become, he felt like he was the one who was going to puke. 

On a second thought, though, the nausea in the pit of his stomach wasn’t his own, it was coming from someone else, someone who wasn’t feeling triumphant at all, even though he shared with Isobel the success of Max’s new life.

He turned his head and saw Michael hunched over, clearly throwing up.

“Why is he?”

“He’s skipped practice too many times,” Isobel said, and he’d sworn there was bitterness in her tone. Weird; Isobel had always been Michael's biggest supporter, even in his most questionable life choices. 

Max tried to sit up and go to Michael. He had to, through their newly established connection he could feel much more than nausea coming from him. It was a dizzily mix of bad and sad and fear and he didn’t like it, especially if associated with his brother. 

With a gentle, yet firm hand, Isobel stopped him, though, and confused, he searched her face for an explanation. As always, she answered without needing a question, “He’s okay. He’s in good hands.”

Until then he had thought that coming back to life would be just as easy as dying had been. Not the process, of course he knew both from personal experience and common knowledge that the process was brutal on either ends, but once you were alive he expected to just go back to how it was before, an instantaneous switch to just a body and your old, pre-death self. But he had to be wrong, something had changed, or maybe he was just easing slowlier than he’d like to into the living world, because it was only after Isobel’s words that he noticed that there was someone else with them wherever they were, someone he should have seen as clear as his siblings because he was crouched next to Michael, whispering in his ear as he comforted him through his sickness. 

Alex Manes. He was right in front of him and it was like he had just appeared from thin air.

Maybe he was - had been - in a sort of alien tunnel vision or maybe the connection with Isobel and Michael was just so strong at the moment that it was drowning out everything and everyone else. It had to be something like that, hadn’t he heard Liz’s voice at one point? As the idea occurred to him he heard her again, she was calling his name and crying and  _ there _ , as if she had always been by his side. 

“Liz?” His voice was hoarse, and it would have made sense if he hadn’t spoken a couple of minutes before without any troubles.

“You speak,” Liz said, and now she was sobbing and kissing his forehead and Max was so confused that he wondered if he wasn’t alive after all, if he was still getting back to life. “Thank you! Thank you!”

“How do you feel?” Asked a new voice, but not as new as if he were hearing it for the first time. The voice had also a body, it had to, because the person who had just spoken took his arm to feel his pulse, and somehow the thought struck him as strange, a voice and a body coexisting wasn’t the norm where he had been. “Max, how do you feel, man?” The voice said again. Kyle. The voice belonged to Kyle Valenti.

_ It’s hard to focus,  _ man _ , and I don’t know why _ he wanted to reply, but  _ it was hard to focus _ , or, more exactly it was hard to find the right words to make himself understood. There were words in his mind, but they didn’t match the sounds of Kyle and Liz’s and neither those of Alex’s whispers. They were words he knew only Isobel could understand and perhaps Michael if he were in a better shape. 

Liz was weeping now, though, and he couldn’t let her be in that much pain, so he settled for something he knew he could utter, something that didn’t need a translation, “Liz?” 

For he didn’t know how long the world became only Liz, her skin and her lips and fingers and her smell and her tears and her kisses. And it was in that moment that he felt really alive, really connected to his body. He was more than his thoughts, more than the confusion that was slowing down his brain.

“I’m taking him out of here,” said someone on his left who had to be Alex and the moment in which Liz was his whole world was gone. Michael’s discomfort was so loud, Max wanted out, too. He started to resent Liz’s and Isobel’s restraining presence that was contributing in keeping him on the ground. “He can’t stay here anymore.”

“Is he okay?” Why was Kyle the only person in the room worried about Michael was beyond Max. How long had he been gone? Too long if the world had changed that much. “Does he need a pod?”

The question was hesitant, Kyle clearly feared a positive answer and Max found himself scared, too. 

“No, he’s just overwhelmed and exhausted,” said Alex and then added in whisper, “he needs to stay away from Max.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
